"Free to good home. Female Golden Retriever, 6 years old, spayed, all shots. Rescued kennel dog. Gentle, but very timid. Needs patient family."
No one cared. Not one called. G-Doggie's still here, hiding in the back corner of the yard behind the berry vines.
But she has grown increasingly unhappy with her spot. We did some yard work last week. We cleaned out the garden, pulling the heirloom tomato plant that never fruited and the grape tomato plant that was dying. I trimmed the blossoms from the basil and pulled weeds. Tom cut off all the runners from the wisteria and removed all the spent berry stalks. That's when he'd gone too far. It made G-Doggie's hideout more visible. Now, when she lays behind the vines that remain, you can see her...and she can see you. Oh, God, nooooooo!!!!
She found another, more private spot, so we had to put up a little wire gate in front of the compost pile. She'd dug a nice little bed for herself in the far corner between the fence and the compost pile. We discovered her new habitat when, after I didn't see her in the yard, I called her and she came running around the fence from the compost pile. She was covered head to toe with black compost and compost was clumped on her wet nose. She'd been digging and I had to clean her off before I could even let her in the house. Last weekend, Tom put up the wire gate from the leftover fencing we bought earlier in the summer.
So, G-Doggie's back behind the berry vines. Oh, she'd much prefer the comfy, very private bed she made in the compost pile. How do I know that? Because she will periodically come out from behind the berries and walk around the yard. As she makes her circle, she walks by the fenced compost pile and stops and looks at the wire gate. Then looks at the back door of the house. Then looks back at the wire gate. Then continues to the back corner behind the berry vines. She's pissed. I know it. Well, she's as pissed off as much as G-Doggie can be pissed off. It's like she has episodes of dog tourettes. You see she's pissed; it's there; then it's gone in a flash, like nothing has happened. But, every time she walks by the wire gate, she does exactly the same thing. She stops and looks at the gate, then looks at the back door, then looks back at the gate, then walks back to her spot behind the berries.
I don't know, maybe she thinks she's dreaming and is hoping she will wake up and the wire gate will have been merely a nightmare. Or, maybe she's just pissed and is scoping out the gate, trying to figure out how she's going to get around or through it.
In any case, we still have G-Doggie. The ad is running again this week, but no calls so far. If no one calls, she's ours for good. We talked about it. It's really the only alternative. I can't and won't take her to a shelter. Even if all she does is lie around and nap 24/7, she will just have to do that here. Besides, G-Doggie is the only animal we have ever owned that has been so completely non-threatening that my mother-in-law actually reached out to pet her head one time. If you knew my mother-in-law, you would know that is HUGE because she does not like animals.
Yep, so far G-Doggie is not going anywhere, except maybe to the kennel when we travel and can't take her.
On another note, we are new parents! No, not another child. That would require a miracle; one which would make us very rich when we sold our miracle story to the National Inquirer. It's not a human baby, but fish baby!
Last summer (2008) we bought six smallish goldfish and six Plecostomus (we call them simply "Suckers") for the pond. We fed them all summer and fall, and when winter set in, stopped. This spring, the goldfish have more than doubled their size and all of them have huge fantails. They are so pretty. I have no idea what the suckers look like. We never see them. I don't even know if they survived.
I've read enough about ponds and goldfish to know that they might even have baby fish, but the likelihood of the baby fish surviving is slim because the bigger fish will eat them. Earlier this summer, when Tom was cleaning the pump, he pulled out a very small, but very dead fish. Darn! No survivors. Until the other day when I was feeding the fish, I caught a glimpse of a small 7th goldfish less than an inch long, with a small fantail. Very cool, huh?
I think I will call him "Bruiser"... that is, until I can't tell him apart from the other fish, and then I will have to call him by the generic "Fishy" that I use to address his Fish-Mom, Fish-Dad and other Fish-Relatives. I'm sure he'll just want to be considered part of the crowd.